The Adventure of the Wizard Detective
by puffypuffin3
Summary: A tale of magic and murder, join Sherlock Holmes and John Watson as eleven year old wizards attending Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry as they struggle with baffling cases, magical schoolwork, and various other aspects of school. The game is on! Rated T for, well, murder and other such violence.
1. A Study at Hogwarts

**This is a story about John and Sherlock's lives as kids on their way to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. This takes place in 1983 (Voldemort being vanquished by baby Harry in 1981) so it still has the same professors. A few other HP characters will appear later in the story though. It's mostly going to be mysteries and have some elements taken from the books. I'm working on another fic too, so updates will be slow and random. I'll try my best though, and I hope you enjoy.**

**Book 1: The Adventure of the Drebber Murder**

**Chapter 1- A Study at Hogwarts**

"But _how _does it work. How do they hide an entire platform behind a small wall like that?"

"It's _magic_, Harriet," John replied irritably.

The Watsons had just arrived on Platform 9 ¾. Their son, John, was on his way to a prestigious boarding school called Hogwarts. It had been a shock to his parents when a witch from the school arrived at their home with a letter and a lengthy explanation of the existence of wizards. Though his parents were dubious, John was ecstatic.

On the other hand, John's sister, Harriet, was not to be pleased by these events. Truth be told, she was jealous that her brother was to go to this fantastic school while she had never even received such a letter. John couldn't blame her though.

As his father hefted John's trunk into the train, John was bidding farewell to his mother and sister.

"Write back home at least twice a week, okay?" John's mother said, embracing her son as silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Yes, Mum, but _really_! You're making a scene!" John didn't want the other kids getting a bad impression about him by having his sobbing mother cling to him.

Eventually John's father and Harriet had to pull John's mother off of him. The three waved at him as he jumped onto the train, which slowly began to build up speed. John kept waving at his family until they were out of sight.

Sighing with relief, John grabbed his trunk and headed down the corridor to find an empty compartment. Most were full, but he soon found one at the back of the train which was empty except for one boy.

"Excuse me, is it okay if I join you?" John asked.

"Yes," replied the boy. He was tall for his age and had curly black hair that almost came down to his eyes which were a vivid blue. Though the boy was already dressed in his school robes, he wore a blue scarf with it as well.

John placed his trunk on the luggage rack before sitting down across from the boy. "My name's John by the way. John Watson."

"I'm Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

"Nice to meet you. So, um, do you come from a wizard family?" John asked in a feeble attempt to begin a conversation.

"Yes, my entire family actually. The term is 'pure-blood.' You, on the other hand, are a muggle born."

John stared at him. "How did you-

"Quite obvious. Your trunk still has the London airport tags. No wizard would use an airline when they can simply use the Floo Network, Apparate, or fly on a broomstick. Also that trunk previously belonged to your sibling as his of her initials are still slightly visible. Obviously they're your elder as only older siblings pass down their old possessions."

"T-that's right. You knew all of that from just glancing at my trunk?" John asked.

"That was a simple deduction. Too easy," Sherlock replied.

"That's amazing," John muttered.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "You think so?"

"Of course. Deduction skills like that only befit a highly skilled detective!"

Sherlock continued to stare at the blonde boy across from him, trying not to show his astonishment on his face. "No one's ever said anything like that."

"Why not? You're brilliant. What do they normally say?"

"Oh, the usual insults befitting simpletons like them. They call me a freak, a liar, a psychopath. Things like that."

"Well I think you're a genius."

Sherlock couldn't help but smile a little at this comment.

The two boys continued to talk until the sky began to grow dark outside. The trolley lady had already passed by, and they had purchased some snacks. Sherlock had eaten very few though, claiming that eating too much slowed his thinking process. While other would describe Sherlock as odd, John found him to be unique in his own way.

There was a knock at the compartment door, which slide open to reveal a small first-year girl as well as a first-year boy, who were both already in their school robes. The girl had dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. The boy had short black hair and was rather stocky, in contrast to the girl who was small and thin.

"We're just going around telling everyone that the train's about to arrive," the boy said.

"Luckily, you're both already dressed," the girl added. Both John and Sherlock were already dressed in their robes, as Sherlock had predicted that they would get to school soon.

"Thank you," John said. "So are you guys first years too?"

"They obviously are, John. They're both half-blood, the boy on his mother's side, correct?"

The boy looked shocked. "How-

"He can deduce things like that," John quickly explained. "My name's John."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Gregory Lestrade, and this is Molly Hooper," the boy said.

"This is Sherlock by the way," John said, introducing his friend since Sherlock did not feel the need to introduce himself.

"It's nice to meet you," Molly stammered, glancing at Sherlock when she said that. The other two boys could quickly tell that she liked Sherlock.

* * *

The train came to a halt, signaling their arrival. Greg and Molly went back to their compartment to collect their things while John and Sherlock grabbed their trunks. The two disembarked and followed the other first years to the boats the gamekeeper, Hagrid, ushered them to. They were placed in a boat along with Greg and Molly.

The boats drifted across the black lake at a steady pace, so the four talked during that time. Sherlock didn't talk that much though. He only spoke when talked to or else he would make snide comments, which John rebuked him for.

Once they arrived at the castle, an elderly witch was there to greet them.

"Hello. My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall. Welcome to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will first be sorted into your respective houses. The four houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, will be like your family. You will help your house win points in a friendly competition for the House Cup, which is awarded at the end of each year to the house with the most points. Be warned, you can also lose your house points for any bad deed. Now follow me and let the sorting begin!"

She walked briskly through the large doors as the children trailed behind her. John glanced around nervously, wondering how the sorting process even worked. Was he suppose to have studied for this? If so, which house was the best to be in? All of these questions and thoughts swirled around John's head as McGonagall pulled out a battered, old hat and placed it on a stool.

"That's the Sorting Hat," Sherlock said to John.

Before John could reply, the hat burst into song. He was amazed by the magical hat, too intrigued by its ability to talk to even pay attention to the words. After it had completed its song, Professor McGonagall took out a scroll of parchment and began to read from it.

"Abbington, Mary!"

A young girl with blonde hair ran forward and sat down on the stool. McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head. The hat quickly exclaimed, "Gryffindor!" and Mary ran off to sit at the Gryffindor table.

McGonagall continued to read off more names, though John only caught a couple. For example, Molly was sorted into Hufflepuff.

At last came Sherlock's turn. He walked up briskly and jammed the hat onto his head. Almost instantly, the hat yelled out, "Ravenclaw!"

Lestrade was sorted into Gryffindor, and after several more students went, John's name was at last called. John walked to the hat, hoping he would be in the same house as Sherlock. However, the hat quickly cried out, "Gryffindor!" much to John's disappointment. Glancing over at the Ravenclaw table, he saw that Sherlock was also rather disappointed.

After the last three people were sorted, the headmaster said a few words, though John failed to catch them. Something about how the House Cup works, how the forest was forbidden to student, and tryouts for something called Quidditch. After that brief speech, the golden platters on the table suddenly had food on them and the feast began.

John talked with Greg as well as a couple of other people such as Mary. After everyone had eaten their fill, the leftovers disappeared from the plates and the students were led to their dormitories. All John could do was wave at Sherlock as they went their separate ways.

* * *

The next day at breakfast, John found, much to his surprise, Sherlock sitting at the Gryffindor table. John ran over to him, utterly confused.

"Sherlock? Shouldn't you be at the Ravenclaw table?"

"I find it more interesting to talk to you, John. Though Ravenclaw students are known for their incredibly sharp minds, most of them are complete idiots. Boring," Sherlock replied. "Anyway, they're handing out schedules, so you should go get yours."

John nodded and ran off to receive his schedule. He glanced over it with great interest, having wondered what sort of classes wizards would take. It seemed wizards did not have much of a need for higher math, but according to Greg, most children from wizarding families were taught basic arithmetic and history skills by their parents. That made sense since one didn't go to Hogwarts until they were eleven. Some families would actually send their children to muggle school during that time.

"Hang on, I don't think we have any classes together," John said as he inspected his own schedule and compared it with Sherlock's.

"Yes, I know," Sherlock said, doing his best to suppress his disappointment. Things would probably change in third year, but for now...

"Excuse me, but aren't you suppose to be sitting at the Ravenclaw table?" asked a Gryffindor boy to Sherlock.

"There are no rules saying so."

The boy blinked, confused by Sherlock's response. He shook his head and walked away. By now a couple of other students were staring at Sherlock, but he ignored it. The two friends finished breakfast in silence.

"We better be off to classes then. I've got Potions and you have Charms," John said.

"Yes. Hopefully they prove to be interesting courses," Sherlock sighed, gathering up his books and leaving. John followed suit, but he soon lost sight of Sherlock in the huge crowd. He headed down to the dungeons where Potions class was held. He got lost a few times though, because apparently the teachers never bothered to show first years around. They apparently never thought about how easy it was to get lost in a giant castle.

* * *

John barely arrived in time, taking the first empty seat he saw. He began unpacking his potions equipment as Professor Snape lectured about potion-making. He got out a piece of parchment to write down notes on the basics of potions, but he noticed something scrawled on the corner of the fresh sheet.

It said: _Come to the unused classroom by the painting of the dragons. After class._

John scratched out the words without a second thought as he quickly began jotting down notes. However, he then noticed the same cryptic message further down on his page. The ink was still fresh. Annoyed, he scribbled over it again, dismissing it as some sort of prank. However, when he glanced up at the board and then back at his page, he noticed a good chunk of it filled with the same message.

_Someone's just using magic to make those words appear. It's nothing to worry about, _John thought.

He continued writing down notes, but when he glanced away for a mere second, he found all his notes covered with that message, blotting out all his hard work.

"Alright, whoever's doing this can stop now! It's not funny!" John yelled. He froze as he realized he had said that allowed, and everyone in the classroom looked at him with puzzled expressions.

"Mr. Watson, could you please explain to the class the relevance of your outburst," Professor Snape said.

John flushed and looked down at his ruined page. "I-it's nothing."

"In which case, that will be five points from Gryffindor," Professor Snape said, turning his attention back to the lesson. John did his best to focus on the lesson, and the message did not return to bother him, until...

As everyone was packing up for the next class, John noticed the message written across the board. John tapped Greg and pointed at the board.

"Do you see that?"

Greg looked up, "See what?"

"The message on the board!"

"John, there's no message on the board. Are you feeling alright?"

Sure enough, the message had been erased, leaving John gaping like a fish out of water. Without another word, he grabbed his stuff and ran out the classroom, determined to find an explanation. The answer was, of course, to go to the location the message had mentioned. He soon found the unused classroom on the second story. Pushing the door open, he nervously stepped in and glanced around the pitch-dark classroom.

"Hello, John Watson. So glad you could come. I assume you got my message."

The lights came on, revealing a grown wizard, though he was obviously not part of the faculty at Hogwarts. He had wore a suit, had dark hair, was rather rotund, and carried an umbrella, which John found odd. The lights were still dim though, so John could barely make out the man's face.

"Take a seat, John," the man said, gesturing to the only chair in the room.

"I'd rather not," John said, backing towards the door.

"There's no need to worry, I'm only here to ask you something."

"I have several things to ask you, but my mum told me not to talk to strangers."

"Hilarious, but tell me, what is your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

John looked confused. Was that really the reason for all of this trouble? "He's just my friend."

"A likely story. Sherlock doesn't have friends."

"Who are you?"

"A concerned party."

"Concerned about Sherlock?"

"You might say so. I'm the closest thing he has to a friend."

"And that would be-

"An enemy. His arch-enemy. In his eyes anyway. I know Sherlock, which is why I've known him not to be the amicable sort."

"I barely know Sherlock," John replied.

"That's why you think he's your friend. Trust me, you won't think so once you get to know him."

John glared at the man. True Sherlock seemed a bit antisocial, prideful, and harsh, but he was brilliant and seemed like a honest fellow. Then again, he remembered how Sherlock told John that most people would insult him, so maybe Sherlock instinctively pushed away people. Then again, he didn't push John away.

John opened the door and began walking out as he heard the man call out. "I assume you won't stay away from Sherlock then?"

"No," John said, turning around to face the man, only to see that he was already gone.

* * *

Sherlock was at the Gryffindor table again when John walked in for lunch. Perhaps he should tell Sherlock of the odd events that had just occurred. Then again, he wasn't sure who that man even was. What if Sherlock didn't want to be reminded about that man. What if he had some bad memories associated with him. All sorts of crazy theories spun around in John's head as he sat down across Sherlock.

"Heard you had a little outburst in Potions. Must have been bad by the way your acting," Sherlock said.

"Huh," John said, snapped out of his jumbled thoughts.

"What happened in Potions?" Sherlock repeated. "Lestrade was talking about it to Molly and me earlier."

"Lestrade?" John said, confused until he realized that was Greg's last name. "It's nothing, Sherlock. Don't worry about it."

"You're lying," Sherlock said.

John sighed. "Alright, if you want to know the truth, I met a friend of yours."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "A friend?"

"An enemy."

"Oh yes, which one?"

"Your arch-enemy."

Sherlock dropped his fork and quickly got up. "I know _exactly _who that was. It's so irritating that he thinks I can't handle myself. That he has to _protect _me or whatever. I'm going to put an end to this right now."

John followed Sherlock as he stormed out of the Great Hall. What exactly was Sherlock so angry about anyway? Not to mention, he still didn't know who the man was.

"Hang on, Sherlock, who was that guy anyway?"

"That was my brother Mycroft."

"Wait, that was your _brother_!? He's not a-

"A what?"

"I dunno. Criminal mastermind?"

"Far worse. I'd rather go up a criminal mastermind than have to deal with my brother."

"Does your brother go here?" John asked. It would make sense because how else would this Mycroft fellow know about John and Sherlock's friendship when it was barely the first day of school.

"No. He's seven years my elder. Even though he's only eighteen, he already has a high position in the Ministry."

"Ministry?"

"Of Magic. It's the wizard government."

"Oh."

The two friends continued to head to Owlery, but when they rounded the corner, they were confronted by a grisly sight. A dead body.

"Oh God! We have to get a teacher," John said, running over to check the student's pulse. The boy no longer had a pulse, but his corpse was still warm. John looked up to Sherlock, having expected him to run for help. However, Sherlock stood there grinning like a madman.

"Brilliant! Oh, this makes up for all the other things that when wrong today! This is perfect, John! A murder!"

"How is this a good thing?" John asked, standing up and staring at Sherlock with mild confusion.

"We have a mystery on our hands! The game is on!" Sherlock said, kneeling by the body to inspect it.

John stood, unsure of what to do. Though now it made a bit more sense. Why Mycroft was concerned about Sherlock. Why most people thought Sherlock was insane. Still, Sherlock was determined to solve the murder, so his intentions seemed well.

"We should still get a teacher," John said.

"Oh, right. Sorry, John. You might be squeamish around bodies. I've dealt with this sort of thing before though."

"I'm not squeamish. My father was a doctor and he wanted me to be one before I got accepted into Hogwarts so I do know a bit about this sort of stuff. When have you dealt with murders anyway?"

"Once. There was a murder in our wizarding village and I solved it of course. Not much of a challenge though."

Sherlock continued to inspect for all sorts of clues and details as John looked on with great interest. He noticed some letter inscribed on the wall, obviously burned in with magic, that read, _Rache_.

"That's German for revenge. Bit over the top, but then again, people are typically sloppy and overly dramatic when it comes to their first murder. Leaving a body in plain sight means they're hungry for attention or else they planted the body to purposely strike fear in the students-

Sherlock's ramblings were cut short when they heard a scream behind them. They spun around and spotted a fifth-year Slytherin girl. She had turned chalk-white and had crumpled the letter she had meant to send in her fist. Several other students appeared having heard the girl's screams, and began yelling as well.

"Murder! Oh my God, somebody get a teacher!" yelled a third year Hufflepuff boy.

"We're on it. And don't bother calling up Madam Pomfrey. The bloke's dead. Asphyxiated from poison no doubt," John said as he grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him along.

"John!" Sherlock said, struggling like a child being torn away from a particularly entertaining toy,"Just five more minutes!"

"There's already a crowd and we should have gone to get a teacher in the first place!"

"Ugh, but they would just prevent me from conducting my investigation!"

"Yeah, well so will those students. And we'll be lucky if we're not called in for questioning on this matter seeing as we were seen with the dead body-

Unfortunately, it seemed that John had jinxed them because at that moment, Professor McGonagall was glowering at the boys, the Slytherin girl standing beside her.

"Holmes. Watson," she said coldly. "You'd better have an explanation for this. Members of the Ministry are already on their way."

**Please review and tell me how I did. I'm okay with constructive criticism. I'd appreciate it actually. I will bring in characters from the Sherlock stories, using mainly their last names and altering the first names. Thanks again for reading!**


	2. The Investigation is Impeded

**So here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Book I: Chapter 2- The Investigation is Impeded**

"A stupid thing to do on your part, though expected," Mycroft said.

The Ministry employees had arrived very quickly, and among them was Mycroft. Currently, Sherlock and Mycroft were arguing in Professor McGonagall's office while John waited awkwardly outside while listening to the two bickering brothers.

"Did you expect me to let such an exciting thing slip through my fingers? How often does this happen at Hogwarts?"

"Hopefully it won't happen again."

"That's so _boring_."

"Stop acting like such a child, Sherlock!"

"Brilliant deduction, Mycroft. I am a child!"

"In which case what _child _goes around trying to solve murders? Do you know how much trouble you're in? I had to convince everyone else not to take you and your little friend into custody. You two were the ones seen at the crime scene, so it was only logical that you'd be suspects."

"Those people at the Ministry are morons."

"Sherlock-

"And for that matter, you're only concerned about what I do here because you're worried about your position at the Ministry!"

"I'm your brother. Of course I'm worried."

"Is that why you were sending threats to John?"

"They weren't _threats_. I just needed to make sure you weren't associating yourself with unsavory people."

"I think I'm pretty good at judging people," Sherlock grumbled.

"Hardly. Tell me, what did you perceive of the Ministry employee that led you here?"

"Mid-thirties, half-blood, wife recently deceased and left him with two young children, the oldest probably being around four."

"Close. His wife isn't dead."

"His robes are in need of ironing and the fact that he's buying his children toys, as perceived by the receipt in his pocket which indicated to-

"Wrong. She left him. He could easily use magic to maintain his clothes, but he chooses not to. Married a muggle who didn't know he was a wizard until the eldest child began showing magic. He stopped using magic for everyday use out of grief. The items he bought, some picture books and a rattle, indicate the age of the children. He went to a muggle store, possibly because he wants to raise his children in a more muggle environment. After all, if he was married to muggle who had yet to know of his powers, he obviously lives in a muggle inhabited village-

"Alright, enough. I get it you show-off."

"Whatever you say, kettle."

"But what's wrong with it if I handle this case?"

"You're only a child and we have high-ranking Ministry employees working on this."

"What about you?"

"I have better things to do than involve myself with this. Besides, I know that this case is in capable hands. Now you'd best stay out of trouble, Sherlock, or else I'll write to Mum about this."

With that, Mycroft exited the room and headed back to talk with the school staff. Sherlock exited, looking absolutely sulky.

"Seems things didn't go too well," John said, trying to brighten Sherlock's spirits.

"No, not at all."

"Well, we'd better take better care if we want to continue investigating this," John said.

These words seemed to do the trick. "Do you mean it, John? You're okay with continuing the investigation?"

"Well, I assumed you wouldn't give up so easily and I don't want you doing this on your own-

"Brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed, grabbing John's hand and dragging him along. "Let's start right away!"

"H-hang on, Sherlock! We still have our other classes to attend. I've got Defense Against the Dark Arts and you have Potions."

Sherlock once again grinned. "Classes are canceled for the rest of the day. Mycroft was decent enough to tell me that. Let's go."

* * *

The week transgressed with nothing new, much to Sherlock's disappointment. The Ministry had taken all the evidence, and Dumbledore himself placed charms around the murder scene to ensure that no one would go there unless authorized. However, that did make getting to the Owlery difficult because now there was only one route to it, which tended to be crowded these days.

Sherlock had managed to unearth a few details, such as information on the victim. He was a sixth year Ravenclaw named Alfred Drebber. He had gotten bits of information from his fellow Ravenclaws, who were more than happy to gossip. Apparently, Alfred was a brilliant student who wanted to go into the Ministry once he graduated. He didn't have any enemies though, at least, according to his best friend David Stangerson.

"He was quite popular actually, but then again, there's always something wrong with popular people. Aside from being popular and overall too social. Rather annoying too," Sherlock added as he gave John more details about the situation.

Students continued to stare at Sherlock, probably because they disapproved of a Ravenclaw being in the Gryffindor common room. Sherlock had begun stopping by the common room since last week, having correctly guessed the password on his third try. John and Greg had convinced the prefects to not tattle to McGonagall, but the Head Boy and Girl were still dubious about this arrangement.

"Why are you two so interested in this whole murder anyway?" Greg had asked once he had discovered what they were up to. "I'm sure the Ministry can handle it."

Sherlock, however, was stubborn as ever and had ranted about the incompetence of the Ministry. After all, all these skilled wizards and witches were unable to do anything about one dark wizard who was then defeated by a baby of one year. Greg has wisely chosen to nod and walk away rather than argue with Sherlock.

"We should be more concerned with upcoming flying lessons," John said. Lessons were scheduled tomorrow, and John was generally worried about the whole thing. Apparently this also involved a popular wizard sport called Quidditch, which many first years from wizard families wouldn't stop jabbering about. Greg had told John all about Quidditch, but Sherlock was not very concerned with Quidditch.

"I already know how to fly. I'm decent at it, and Mycroft was too until he let himself go. Lucky thing he's on a diet right now," Sherlock said absently.

"Well if there's nothing new, we had better finish this Transfiguration essay," John said, turning his attention back to his half-finished paper.

Sherlock groaned, "It's still just theory. I _know _all that rubbish."

"Speaking of which Sherlock, I've heard you've been ditching Astronomy lessons. Is that true?"

"Yes. It's not important enough for me to waste valuable space in my mind on things like the Solar System. When will I ever need to use that?"

"Not to mention that I heard from Molly that you didn't even know the Sun went around the Earth."

"It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter? But it's the Solar System!"

John had recently found that while Sherlock was an absolute genius, he lacked knowledge on the most basic of subjects. Earlier he had learned that Sherlock didn't even know the name of the Minister of Magic. When John asked, Sherlock began this entire rant about his so-called "Mind Palace" and how it was only useful to know important things. John found that to be a valid point, or at least, he knew it was wise not to argue with Sherlock. You always lost.

* * *

"I want you to stick out your hand, and say 'UP'," instructed Madam Hooch.

"UP!" cried the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins as they tried to make their brooms spring into their hands. Few succeeded on their first try, John being one of them. He had been nervous thinking about flying all weak, but now it seemed like an exciting prospect.

After everyone had successfully gotten onto their brooms, Madam Hooch told them to kick off the ground slightly, and hover before landing. John was able to do so perfectly. The lessons continued as Madam Hooch taught them basic flying techniques as well as safety tips. John was a bit disappointed when lessons ended, but there were still other flying lessons to look forward to. Maybe if he got good enough, he could join the Gryffindor Quidditch team next year.

"Good job for a beginner, Mr. Watson," Madam Hooch said.

"Thank you," John said, beaming with pride. He ran off to see if he could find Sherlock before his next lesson.

* * *

"Anything new about the case?" John asked once he found Sherlock.

"Yes actually. Molly has an uncle who is working on the case. Apparently the cause of death was indeed asphyxiation caused by poison. Some ordinary poison apparently, so it seems no magic was involved in this murder meaning-

"It was most likely a muggle born?" John guessed.

"Or a half-blood. Or perhaps a pure blood who wanted to make it look like it was a muggle born. Anyway, the Ministry suspects the murder may be a hate crime committed by some former followers of that Dark Lord."

"Sauron?" John said, naming the only dark lord he knew of.

"No. That Voldemort bloke that was defeated in 1981 by Harry Potter. Come on, John, that was only two years ago. The thing is, Drebber was a pure blood, so perhaps this was a case of post war backlash. Then again, it could also be that his family was supposed 'blood traitors,' so I'll have to conduct a full investigation on Drebber's family."

John nodded and the two went their separate ways as they went to their next class. As John rounded the corner, he spotted two other first years, a girl and a boy, waiting for him.

"Can I help you?" John asked as the two kids bared his way.

"We were just curious about something," said the boy.

"About?" John asked, now recalling their names. The Ravenclaw girl was Sally Donovan, and the Hufflepuff boy was Phillip Anderson.

"We want to know what you and the freak are doing sticking your noses in that Drebber case," said Sally.

"Seems your kind of sticking your nose into our business," John retorted. He knew she was referring to Sherlock when she said _freak_, but he knew it would be unwise to let his temper get the better of him.

"Why do you even waste your time hanging out with that freak? If anything, it seems like this whole murder business is his doing," Anderson said.

"Why would Sherlock ever do that!?" John snapped.

"Because he's a psychopath and psychopaths get bored," Sally said.

"He's trying to _solve _the case."

"The freak should leave it to the Ministry. I'm surprised the Ministry didn't haul him away for questioning," Anderson continued. They both started laughing at the thought, but were quickly silenced once John pulled out his wand.

"And I'm surprised I'm not sending both of you to the hospital wing with severe injuries. Now _move_," John said, pushing past them and running down the corridor until their snide remarks faded away.

He was already running late for History of Magic because of Donovan and Anderson when he heard someone call out his name. Turning around, he was surprised to find Mycroft.

"So, John, I see that you and my little brother are continuing to investigate this Drebber case despite my prohibiting it."

"Well, you technically just forbid Sherlock from investigating. I was never told otherwise," John replied. The words slipped out before he even thought about it, and it probably wasn't the best thing to say either.

"I suppose."

"Why don't you want Sherlock investigating the Drebber case? Don't you think he's competent enough to do so?" John asked, not thinking his response through again.

"It's not that. I do believe my little brother has the potential to solve this case. After all, he is my brother. He's smarter than half of the Ministry. No, I am genuinely concerned about his well-being. While somewhat brilliant, he is rather brash and I fear he will only get himself hurt," Mycroft said.

John blinked in confusion, "So you're actually just concerned about him?"

"Yes, not that he would ever want me to say so. The thought infuriates him."

"Oh," John said. So this was more of a typical sibling rivalry. It seemed so oddly...normal.

"Still, I remain concerned about his...friendship with you," Mycroft said, studying his umbrella with great interest as he said this.

"Why?"

"Well, the way I see this, it can go two ways. One, you are a good influence or two, you're a terrible influence."

"Thanks. As if Sherlock can't handle himself. No wonder he finds you irritating," John snapped. He really needed to think before speaking.

"You're the first friend Sherlock has had. True he seems to tolerate others, but he seems especially attached to you. Why is that?"

John opened his mouth to respond, but Mycroft continued, "Seeing as how loyal you are, one would assume you'd be a Hufflepuff. But you're in Gryffindor instead. Do you know why?"

"Um, yeah, because the Sorting Hat placed me in Gryffindor."

"Because it sensed how impulsive you can be. This dangerous streak of yours is certainly what attracted Sherlock. Such bravery and loyalty, but then again, bravery is perhaps the kindest word for stupidity."

"I don't have time for this," John growled, stomping away from Mycroft. He was already late for History of Magic.

* * *

John and Greg sat at in the Gryffindor common room, helping each other out on a particularly difficult Charms essay. John found himself unable to focus properly, and considered going to bed early claiming to be tired. However, it seemed that Greg read his mind because he spoke up.

"John, I know this whole Drebber case is bothering you and how Sherlock wants to be involved-

"Are you also going to lecture me on how we should leave it to the Ministry to handle!?" John snapped.

"I thought so at first, but it seems to me that you two are really determines to solve this case. If you want to, I really have no right to stop you. Besides, it's not like the Ministry's making much progress."

"No, but neither are we."

"Something else might come up though. More concrete evidence," Greg said in an attempt to encourage John.

"Yeah. I just hope it's not another murder."

"I doubt it. Besides, there were some parents who wanted to pull the kids out of Hogwarts when they got news of the first murder. None did, but another murder might really scare them into doing so."

"Even more reason to hope another murder won't occur. Still, murderers tend to murder twice, so we have to catch the fiend before he or she strikes again," John said.

"For now let's just focus on finishing this essay," Greg said, turning his attention back to his paper.

* * *

"Personally I would have just jinxed them," Sherlock said after John had told him about the incident with Anderson and Donovan. However, he made sure to exclude the part about running into Mycroft again.

"Don't let those idiots get to you, John, we have more important things to worry about."

"Anything new on the Drebber case?"

"Unfortunately, no. Mycroft has been breathing down my neck and seems to monitor my every movements. Probably knows the exact flavor of jelly I put on my toast. Luckily he hasn't written to my parents, but I still need to be wary about the investigation. Mycroft has eyes and ears everywhere. He hasn't bothered you again, has he, John?"

"Er-" John hesitated, not being comfortable about lying to his friend.

"I thought as much. What did he tell you?"

"The usual stuff about letting the Ministry handle the case," John replied. While he wasn't exactly lying, he wasn't telling the whole truth.

"I see," Sherlock said in an unconvinced tone. Luckily, he did not pursue the matter further.

* * *

It wasn't until Halloween that Sherlock was able to find information concerning the Drebber case.

"I finally managed to get information on his family without Mycroft noticing. Long line of pure bloods, but they also have several muggle relatives here and there. Point is, it doesn't seem like there would be any conflict based on blood status, so we can drop that theory. Our best lead is his friend, David Stangerson. Same year, knew Drebber since first year, muggle born, parents live in London. Nothing amiss in his family either. For all we know, this could be case of a random killing."

"But what about _Rache_?"

"Could have easily been put there to trip us up. However, we haven't enough evidence to rule out any possibilities. I still say there's some sort of underhanded business going on if a student murdered for revenge. That is why our best bet is to follow Stangerson. He might have killed Drebber. A simple case of a friendly rivalry that got out of hand perhaps."

"We're going to stalk him?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"But we don't even know-

Sherlock silenced him as he whipped out a piece of parchment. "I got a copy of his schedule."

"I see."

* * *

The two students then, rather reluctantly on John's part, skipped their morning classes in order to follow Stangerson. Being a sixth year meant that he had some free periods, which he had first period, before second period Charms. The two followed him to the library, where he simply sat down to work on some homework.

"Very suspicious activity he's doing here, Sherlock. Doing homework is such a horrendous crime," John joked.

"It should be illegal," Sherlock grumbled. This boring activity of watching Stangerson study continued for another half hour until John stood up.

"I've got flying lessons to go to and I'd rather not miss that."

"Very well," Sherlock said.

"I'll catch up with you during lunch," John added.

John quickly left the library, doing so quietly since Madam Pince had been glaring at the two first years peering through the same bookshelf for the past half hour. Luckily, she hadn't come over to bother them because that would have ruined there whole plan. Still, it seemed a bit unnecessary for Sherlock to follow Stangerson. Nothing bad was going to happen.

Wrong.

**In the wizarding world of Harry Potter, something always happens on Halloween.**

**I read a lot of mystery, so I try to think about all sorts of possibilities. Turns out there are _so _many! Yeah, Sherlock's investigation skills may not be as fine-tuned and perfect as they should be, but that's because he's still young and will progress throughout the series. Also, it takes a brilliant writer to write a brilliant character, so I'm just floundering here as best as I can with my sub-par writing.**

**On a cheery note, drop a review and let me know how I'm doing so far! Thanks for reading!**


	3. The Plot Thickens

**Sorry it took me so long with the next chapter what with school and AP tests. However, I'm now on summer break. Woohoo! I'll hopefully post chapters faster now, but I'll be doing other things in the summer and be very busy. Sorry. However, you have the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Book I: Chapter 3- The Plot Thickens**

John had made in time for flying lessons, which was very lucky as they were now going over different sorts of maneuvers. Some were a bit dangerous and tricky, many first years not wanting to even attempt them yet, but John found it to be enjoyable and exhilarating.

"It's really quite amazing. I'd say Watson would be a great addition to the Gryffindor team next year," admitted a Slytherin boy.

"You shouldn't go around saying that," a Slytherin girl admonished him.

"But it is true," he said defensively, several other Gryffindors and Slytherins nodding in agreement.

"Alright John, quite showing off and come down already!" Greg laughed.

"Sorry! I was just having so much fun," John called, tilting his broom forward so as to land. However, his broom then shot back up, as if it had a mind of it's own. John tried to regain control of his broom, but it seemed to be bewitched. He sped off, weaving through the parapets of Hogwarts and looping around the castle.

"John! Those moves are really amazing, but we have afternoon classes to go to," Mary, a girl with short, curly blonde hair, said.

"There's something odd going on though," Greg said, frowning as he watched John unwilling fly around the castle.

"Well, he is going a bit high," Mary said worriedly.

Suddenly, John's broom ceased it's intricate moves and instead froze. John couldn't move the broom at all and he was at least six or five stories up! He tried his best to remain calm, and the logical thing would be to call the others for help. However, it seemed as though he couldn't speak. Whoever was bewitching the broom was also kind enough to place a Tongue-Tying Curse on him.

"Now what's wrong?" Greg said.

"His broom. There's something wrong with his broom," Mary said, being the first to come to this realization. "Madam Hooch!"

However, that was when John's broom gave a violent jerk. All the students began yelling, but before anyone could do anything, John's hands slipped of his broom handle and another violent jerk from his broom was able to throw him off. The curse must have been canceled because John was able to yell out as he plummeted to the ground below.

* * *

John awoke in the hospital wing. There were several other students in there as well, some whose beds were concealed by some curtains. For those whose weren't, John noticed they had some burns along their faces, but oddly enough, the burns stopped at their elbows. He grimaced; it must have been some sort of accident in a class. He tried to sit up, but Madam Pomfrey came over and gently pushed him back.

"Don't even try to sit up, Mr. Watson. You have a couple of broken ribs, a concussion, and a fractured elbow. You're lucky the injuries stop at that!" she said.

John groaned as he recalled the cause of his injuries. Someone had made it so he would fall off his broom. But who? Could it have been the person involved with the Drebber murder? But in that case, why would they go after him? Maybe it was a case of some homicidal maniac. The concussion made his head ache as he tried to think, but then someone kicked the door open and loud noise made John's head hurt even more.

"Mr. Holmes! Making such a ruckus when Mr. Watson's trying to recover! Not to mention I've got several other patients trying to sleep," Madam Pomfrey yelled.

"But I need to see John," Sherlock insisted. John was shocked that Sherlock was here. Shouldn't he be at his afternoon classes? Or was it lunch time? Shouldn't he be following Stangerson then?

"You can see him for ten minutes and no more. And please be quiet. I've got more than half of a potions class in here for severe burns. Some explosion apparently."

"Heard about that too," Sherlock said absentmindedly. He ran over to John's bed and grabbed John roughly by the shoulders.

"John! You're alright. I heard from Greg and Mary that you fell from the sixth story. They said someone was jinxing your broom. This never would have happened if you hadn't gone to your stupid flying lessons! How could you do something so stupid anyway? Shouldn't you have known the broom was bewitched and told someone? Maybe they also use a curse so you couldn't speak, is that it? When I find out who did this, and mark my words I will-

"Sherlock, slow down!" John said, unable to understand half of what Sherlock was saying since his friend was babbling incoherently by now. "Also, could you please stop shaking me? I've got some broken ribs that are still healing."

"Right. Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," Sherlock said, releasing John.

"So any news on Stangerson? If it's lunch right now or past, I know he doesn't have any classes after Charms until Potions later today," John said, trying to shift the subject away from himself.

"All Potions classes were canceled because of some accident, and I'll find Stangerson later. We need to find out who jinxed your broom," Sherlock said.

"You don't think that could have been the same person involved in the Drebber case?"

"Possibly, but why would they target you? If this is a case of revenge there's no link between you and Drebber that would prompt someone to try to kill you. Unless they think we're making progress and they want to off both of us. However, another possibility-

"Oh my goodness! Bring him here, lay him on the bed," Madam Pomfrey said in a hushed voice, placing curtains around a bed some of the professors had placed a student on.

"It's too late though, he's dead," Professor Sinistra said. Sherlock perked up at these words and drew the curtains around John's bed before any of the professors could spot him.

"We still had to bring him here. Can't risk having the students finding another dead body. Ministry employees are on there way," Professor Vector said.

As if on cue, Ministry employees burst into the room. Five gathered up the body with great care before walking out. One stayed though to interrogate the staff.

"So where was he found?"

"In an unused classroom along the Transfiguration corridor. Stangerson didn't have Transfiguration today, so I'm not sure why he was there."

"But to be attacked in broad daylight! Not to mention this doesn't look like magic was involved. Multiple stab wounds. Was the murder weapon found?"

"No."

"I see. For the time being, make sure no students find out about this. We can't let it slip that yet another murder has occurred."

Sherlock turned back to John. Luckily, none of the adults had spotted them yet since they were all too busy with this other case of murder. "Stangerson's been murder. These murders _do _have a connection then."

"Maybe Stangerson knew something."

"No. If he did, why would he have waited to reveal it. Unless he was using it for blackmail, which is unlikely because he was distraught with his best friend's death. He was also rather nervous then, and it wasn't until now that he seemed better. Obviously, he was scared he would be next and he didn't let his guard down until now."

"But if there is a connection with Drebber and Stangerson, why did the murderer attack me?"

"He or she must have known I was following Stangerson. By injuring you, they knew I would be distracted and they could attack Stangerson. A red herring."

"Red herring?"

"Yes, something that leads one astray. A ploy, trick, trap, whatever you wish to call it."

"I see, but this doesn't get us any closer to finding the murderer."

"It confirms the connection though. That means these aren't random killings, they're revenge killings. Remember _Rache_?"

"Mr. Holmes! I had forgotten you were there. It's been more than ten minutes. You'd better get going," Madam Pomfrey said.

"Yes, ma'am," Sherlock said, knowing it was futile to argue with her.

"Will I be well enough to attend the Halloween feast later?" John asked, mainly because he had to talk to Sherlock about this case.

"Unfortunately, no. And Mr. Holmes shouldn't visit you until tomorrow. For now you need plenty of rest, Mr. Watson," Madam Pomfrey said as she busied herself with readjusting the curtains.

"Yes, ma'am," John replied gloomily. Sherlock cast him a sympathetic look before leaving.

* * *

Lunch was over by now, but Sherlock wasn't going to his afternoon classes. He was heading towards the unused classroom. Oddly enough, it wasn't locked. The place had already been combed over by the Ministry and cleaned up of all blood, as verified by the remaining soap suds. However, Sherlock spotted the word he had expected to find, _Rache_.

"If I could find the murder weapon though, that would help. Students have a ready access to knives because many are provided in Potions class for cutting up ingredients, but those are kept under lock and key and charms. It would take a really powerful witch or wizard to break through such a spell. Unless...

Then he remembered Madam Pomfrey's mutterings about some explosion in the Potions dungeon. It could be unrelated to the case, but if the murderer had use the explosion as a diversion to steal a knife as well as get the class canceled. He had heard that the accident had occurred during second period, but that was at the same time as flying lessons.

"If the accident happened near the middle of class though, the murderer could have gone to the hospital wing with the rest of his or her classmates. From there they could get to the north towers which face the Quidditch pitch, allowing the person to stage John's accident. After which they would have taken the staircase near the north towers which lead to the Transfiguration corridor, where they would await Stangerson, knowing I wouldn't be following him because I would have heard of John's accident. Stangerson must have come to this random unused classroom on his own accord for some reason. Perhaps blackmail. They knew I would first wait for John to catch up with me before continuing to follow Stangerson. They killed him during lunch, but since Stangerson was found during the remaining time of lunch, that meant the murder had little escape time. If someone was coming, their only option would be to escape through the window. They would then either make the long trip to the Owlery across and risk being seen, or more likely, they went-

Sherlock climbed out of the window and turned to his right to find a small broom cupboard. "Here. Until they knew it was safe to come out. And most likely, they hid the murder weapon in this cupboard as well."

Sherlock opened the broom cupboard, the inside of which had developed a thin layer of dust. This was good though, because Sherlock began scrutinizing the entire area to see where the dust had been disturbed. Sure enough, he found a small nook in which a hastily wrapped parcel had been stowed. After managing to pull it out, he unwrapped it and found, to his delight, a knife soaked with fresh blood up until the hilt. He was careful not to get any blood on his hands.

"Perfect," he grinned, wrapping the knife up and stuffing it carefully in his robes pocket. Though fingerprints would be useless in this case due to the fact that it was a communal Potions knife, it was the only scrap of evidence the Ministry had not absconded with.

* * *

"You don't think John's accident, the potions accident, and that Drebber murder are somehow connected?" Molly asked Greg and Mary during Herbology that day.

"It seems to me like the work of a psychopath," Mary said. "It doesn't seem like the criminal has a reason for doing this."

"Maybe he or she does," Molly said.

"But the crimes are unrelated. A killing, a broom jinxed, and a potions explosion," Mary said.

"The potions explosion could have been an accident though," Greg pointed out.

"If that's the case, then the murder and broom accident would be tied together. Perhaps the murderer is trying to get rid of John and Sherlock for investigating," Molly said.

"Maybe if John didn't hang out with the freak and play detective, he wouldn't have gotten injured," Anderson said, having overheard the trio's conversation.

"Phillip, there are already enough people in the hospital wing. Don't be one of them," Mary said.

"Is that a threat?"

"No, the Venomous Tentacula is behind you and you could get hurt if you get so easily distracted."

Anderson sprang back, just in time so as to avoid the tentacles of the violent plant. The three laughed as they turned back to their own work.

"The Ministry has to have made some sort of progress with that Drebber case though," Greg said.

"But don't murderers usually strike more than once?" Mary asked.

"Oh come on, I doubt there's going to be another murder," Greg said.

Needless to say, this was wrong.

* * *

The Halloween feast was not as festive as it should have been now that word of Stangerson's murder had already spread. Sherlock was notably absent, but Greg and the others dismissed it, assuming he had sneaked off to see John or investigate.

The next day, John was let out of the hospital wing. After stopping by his classes to receive the work he had missed the other day, he headed up to the Gryffindor common room to work in peace. However, he found Sherlock in there waiting for him.

"John! About time you got here. I have a bunch of things to tell you-

"Can't it wait, Sherlock? I need to make up all this work," John sighed, sitting down next to Sherlock and dumping his books on a nearby table.

"I can give you all the answers," Sherlock offered.

"While that would complete my work, it would mean I wouldn't learn anything. I need to know this for exams."

"You can learn that later. The news I have is more important!" Sherlock said, casually shoving John's books off the table and taking their place to ensure that John wouldn't get distracted with schoolwork. "Look at what I found!"

Sherlock pulled a small bundle out from his robes pocket and presented it eagerly. John took it and unwrapped it, finding the blood encrusted knife within.

"You...found the murder weapon," John said, trying to maintain a plain tone of voice as he quickly wrapped the knife.

"Yes, now what did you observe from it?"

"I don't know. It looks like the standard silver knives in potions class."

"Exactly! Whoever murder Stangerson was in the potions class to cause that explosion and steal the knife," Sherlock said. He continued to explain to John all of his theories such as the exact route the murder must have taken.

"That's amazing, Sherlock. The only problem is that there are a lot of students in a potions class, so we'd have to consider them all as suspects."

"Not exactly. We just have to narrow it down to the people who were not splashed by the potion and end up in the hospital wing. I speculate the potion in question was a Burn Solvent Potion. When complete, it is made into a sort of poultice, but when in it's liquid form, it's very dangerous and can cause severe burns and blisters. That's why students are required to wear their dragon hide gloves. Didn't you notice that none of the patients had no burns on their arms?"

John nodded in agreement as Sherlock continued.

"Now if someone is going to cause a potions explosion, they would sit in the back so that they would avoid getting splashed as well as commit the crime unseen. So we have to narrow it down to the people who weren't checked into the hospital wing."

"How are we going to get a hold of the hospital wing records?" John asked, knowing that Sherlock meant to steal them. Most of the people had gotten better and left, so they couldn't ask them for their names or anything like that.

"I got a hold of the list of people in the potions class, which happens to be a fifth year class by the way. All we need to do is briefly glance through the records and check off names. Now how are you going to distract Madam Pomfrey long enough for me to-

"Hang on, why do I have to provide the distraction?"

"She'd probably know I was up to something. Most of the faculty seems to think that actually."

"I wonder why," John said sarcastically.

"And that is exactly why you must provide the distraction while I climb through the window of her office-

"Hang on, the hospital wing is on the second story! How are you going to climb up to the window?"

"I'll steal a broom obviously. Now what should you do for the distraction. Are you up for faking an injury?"

"She'd be able to tell a fake injury in a few seconds," John pointed out.

"In which case are you willing to take a real injury?"

"Um...no. Besides, something like a sprained wrist she can heal within minutes."

"A few minutes is all I need. But if you insist, complain about some sort of stomach or head pain. Some sort of vague internal pain."

* * *

A few minutes later, John and Sherlock left the common room and planned to execute their plan. They went there separate ways, and Sherlock told him that he would tap on the window once to signal that the deed had been done. Sherlock went to the Quidditch field wile John headed towards the hospital wing. Once he reached the hospital wing, he knocked and stumbled in. Perhaps the stumble was a bit too theatrical, but it worked to provide the image that he was in pain.

"Madam Pomfrey?" John called.

"Yes, Mr. Watson?" Madam Pomfrey asked, coming out of her office.

"I fell down the stairs and hit my head. It really hurts and my ears are ringing. I just wanted to come to you and make sure nothing was terribly wrong," John said.

"Of course. That was very wise of you. Do sit down. It might be a concussion again, in which case I'll get you some of that medicine I gave you yesterday. Unlike broken bones, a concussion is something I can easily heal. Now where did I put the medicine?" she said as she bustled about in search for the medicine.

John spotted Sherlock fly by the window, but luckily Madam Pomfrey did not see him. Sherlock was probably climbing into her office at the moment, unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey snapped her fingers in realization.

"Now I remember! I left the medicine in my office," she went towards her office and John knew he had to act fast or else she would discover Sherlock rooting through her files. John quickly threw himself down on the floor, faking fainting, which caught Madam Pomfrey's attention.

"Mr. Watson, are you alright?" she asked, helping him back up. "You have to be careful not to faint if you have a concussion."

"I know. Sorry," John said, doing his best to say so in a weak voice.

"I'll get you some water and then go get the medicine," she said, filling a glass with water from a nearby pitcher. However, another stroke of bad luck occurred as a loud crashing noise emitted from Madam Pomfrey's office. She quickly set the glass aside and ran over to see what was wrong, but John quickly knocked the glass over to transfer her attention back to him.

"I'm really sorry," John said as he began cleaning up the shards of glass.

"It's quite alright. Let me handle this," she said, waving her wand to gather the shards and carefully dispose of them. "I'll get you the medicine."

John heard one quick and sharp knock at the nearby window, signaling that the task had been completed successfully. John sighed with relief, though now he would have to do his best to choke down that gross medicine Madam Pomfrey was bringing.

**Leave a review please and tell me how I'm doing so far. Thanks for taking the time to read this. Sorry i rushed to get this out. The next chapter will come hopefully in a few days.**


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